


Season of the Witch

by ninhursag



Series: Outside By the Blue, Blue Moon [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Curses, Demons, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-12
Updated: 2007-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has a curse to break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my amazing beta[](http://britomart-is.livejournal.com/profile)[ **britomart_is**](http://britomart-is.livejournal.com/). And as always, for putting up with me and my ranting and for listening and helping me hash out the painful structural problems in this story, thank you [](http://kkscatnip.livejournal.com/profile)[**kkscatnip**](http://kkscatnip.livejournal.com/) . And for the porn! Thank you for the porn! You guys rock.

Dean Winchester was good at fixing things. It was one of those things he knew about himself, like that he was fucking adorable and chicks dug him or that he had the hottest car in all fifty states, Canada and Mexico. He was good at fixing things, except he hadn't fixed this yet and this wasn't a busted EMF meter or a ghost that needed salting and burning. Hell, this wasn't even the Impala totaled and needing his loving attention. It was Sam. Dean was supposed to fix Sam and he hadn't done it yet.

It was six months, almost to the day, of finding out that he and Dad had fucked up big time and Sam was the one suffering for it, and Dean hadn't even begun to figure out what he was supposed to do to fix it.

The sky was blue and the weather was fine the day Dean beat one of his dad's only surviving hunting buddies into the emergency room and then engaged in some extracurricular demon summoning.

All Dean had in his head was Sam, Sam, Sam at fourteen and smiling, Dean's sweet and geeky little brother. At sixteen, moving like he hurt, eyeing everything, like a cornered animal. Eighteen and walking out the door. Twenty-four and in Dean's bed, watching him out of narrowed eyes, like he was afraid to hope. At least Sam wasn't here now and thank fuck he couldn't read minds.

Sam wasn't here, because Dean had, thoughtfully, if he said so himself, left Sam, a week and a day ago in an overpriced fleabag motel two miles from metro Boston with way more than his share of Dean's poker money a week before. Lied through his teeth to keep the little bitch there, too.

A week and a day ago Sam had been in Dean's bed. That was something Dean never, never expected to happen. Not even when he used to daydream about locking Sam up, holding him down and just yelling until he made Sam stop hurting himself using every bastard whose bed he crawled into as a weapon. Dean had never expected it before he knew why Sam had to do the shit he did. Not once in his freakiest cross between a wet dream and a nightmare. He'd thought about it because he was that kind of freak, but that was different from expecting it to actually happen.

But a week and a day ago, it had been too easy. Sam was too easy, always, with a crazy gleam in his eye and he spread for Dean's touch and relaxed like he'd dreamed those same wet dreams. It made Dean feel stupid for never just doing it. All this time.

But a week and a day ago, Dean hadn't been wallowing in his own mess, he'd been taking advantage of one his brother's newly discovered weaknesses. Kid could babble after sex, if it was good. Stupid shit, mostly, and Dean still didn't care about Kepler or Kafka or gender distortion in modern literature even if he didn't mind it as much in Sam's breathless, sleepy voice.

It wasn't easy getting there. Dean knew what he was doing with sex; he didn't think it was bragging to say that he'd licked his way around more than a few pretty bodies in his time. Licking Sam, that was something else though. Better than his sickest fantasy, with skin for miles, clean and tan and Sam's bright and blinding half smiles. Sam had legs to the moon and back and would go along with just about anything Dean could come up with.

It was weird, of course it was weird, because it was still Sam. His brother Sam, who he'd cradled as a child, who he'd thought about growing up, who was his now. It was weird. And it was scary as fuck, because Sam always, always started with this watchful expression, narrowed eyed and looking out from under his lashes the way he must have watched people before. Like he wasn't sure whether he should be bored or scared, but he wasn't going to tell you where he was in his head because making you play dumb guessing games was all he knew how to do.

Which sucked. Sucked hard, but the effort it took was fucking worth it. More than worth it, getting to see Sam's face in that exact second when Dean touched him the right way. When he found the spot in the crook of Sam's elbow or down near the curve where ass met spine or caught his wrists at the right angle to match whatever combination of rough and gentle that Sam needed. That broke through to him. Dean fought for that every time, for the golden second when Sam stopped watching for the blow that wasn't coming and went loose under his hands and mouth. The moment that left Dean with an armful of warm Sam, all wide eyes and spread legs. That fake bored smile that made Dean want to break things would shift and brighten and he'd curl his knees around Dean's spine and that that was almost enough to get Dean off right by itself.

The afterwards should have been just as weird, even weirder, since Dean had never been much for hanging around after sex. It never was. It was just Sam, lying on his stomach, open legs, parted lips and smiling. Smiling in the way that always made Dean feel warm, because he'd done it, he pulled it off one more time. Sam, the pissy little bitch, who was tougher to really, really get off in bed than anyone, ever, on Dean's very long list. More worth it too.

When it was really good, wake the neighbors and blow off the roof good, Sam would just lie there afterwards, spread out and eyes closed and babbling right through his grin. Dean would just listen to him, too annihilated to do anything else. Panting in the aftermath, one hand cupping Sam's ass and the other on his spine, holding him close and getting an earful of the bullshit that spilled out.

But last week, Dean must have said something even if he couldn't remember what, because Sam opened his eyes and shifted over to look at him better before he answered. "Yeah, what do you think for our next job?"

Dean knew that one, had it cold. "I actually got a voicemail from old Sergeant Joe, if you believe that one." He grinned and shook his head. Dad's old hunting buddy and they hadn't been to see him in years. It felt weird and still more than a little bit of a sore spot to see Dad's buddies, but good too. "He's got a poltergeist gig running out in Western Mass. About two hours out, if we floor it."

Sam had just rolled his eyes and made this huffing, almost laughing sound. So dismissive. Dean couldn't stop thinking about that later, because it was like this was an everyday thing, something Sam could be indifferent about, could think was funny. "Man, that freak," Sam'd mumbled. "Do we have to go see him?"

Dean, being the stupid and ignorant asshole he was, had just cuffed Sam lightly on the back of the head. "Dude, that's a friend of dad's," he said, even if he wasn't really annoyed. "He wasn't that much of a freak."

"Oh yeah?" Sam had said and kind of laughed, like it really was that funny, like it was one of their old I know a sicker story than you challenges and he maybe expected Dean to laugh too. "Dude, do you know what he got off on? Fucking pissed in my hair. So gross. Worse than you and your Nair fetish." And then he'd giggled and closed his eyes. Fucking giggled. Like— like Dean didn't know what.

It took every bit of energy Dean had to not stiffen up and start screaming and breaking things. Sam clearly got it anyway, so it was a waste of energy. Sam cracked one eye open and gave this awful, tired sounding sigh. "And I should learn to keep my big mouth shut, right?"

"No," Dean mumbled and tried to give Sam something else, but nothing brilliant came to mind. Just this sick and nasty image he had to shove away, because— no. No. "You can tell me… stuff." If Sam did that, at least he could put together a hit list. Which would give him something to do.

There were a few very, very long minutes of nothing before Sam said, "It really wasn't a big deal. Forget it, okay?" Then he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, but Dean didn't call him on it.

All Dean knew was that this had to stop. Not one second longer. He wanted to climb out of bed, get in the car and just go, go, but he couldn't.

Instead he brought Sam a packet of Twinkies and an egg sandwich the next morning and waited until he had his mouth full before saying anything. "So, I'm gonna do this western Mass gig myself," he said, proud of how firm he sounded.

Sam spat out a mouthful of food and just straight out glared. "Dude, whatever, you're not," he said, and that was clench-jawed pissed off Sam, which Dean knew how to deal with. Mostly.

"For once could you just listen to me?" Dean asked and reached out to cover Sam's hand in his. He felt like he was begging and probably he was. "It's not a big deal. In and out gig. Let me… let me do this for you."

"Why?" Sam demanded sharply. "If it's an in and out easy gig, why do you think I can't handle it?"

"Why should you have to?" Dean was surprised by how true it felt when he said it out loud. He felt like kind of an asshole because it wasn't his main reason, but it was true. "That fuckhead hurt you—"

"It didn't hurt, Dean," Sam snapped. "I told you to forget about it."

"He hurt you," Dean pushed right on because no matter what Sam said it was obviously true. "Nobody helped you. Let me, Sam. Just this once let me do this one stupid thing."

"You do all kinds of stupid things for me," Sam muttered, but Dean could see the faint softening around the edges of his mouth. "You just want to get me out of the way so you can beat this guy up without me watching, right?"

Dean flushed. Excellent performance, he was proud of himself. And really not lying because he was so going to do that too. He had a lot of experience beating the shit out of people who Sam slept with when Sam wasn't watching. "Yeah. So?"

"So. Right. I can't actually stop you from doing that, can I?" Sam shook his head and Dean wanted to ask why the hell Sam wanted to stop him but kept it between his teeth. Sam sighed. "Don't kill anyone. Call me if it gets more complicated than it looks."

"Fine," Dean pushed out, like he was agreeing reluctantly, so Sam would know he'd won one. In his head he was already pulling together all the resources he knew about for summoning a demon.

Sam would never go for it, but Dean was at a dead end and this curse bitch was going to go down, one way or another. He just needed to fix this.

/

That was a week ago. Here and now it was Sunday morning and beautiful outside and Sam was safely out of it. Too far away to tell Dean what a dumbass he was being when he summoned a succubus in the damp basement of a broken down old Massachusetts church.

Dean found the church on his way out of town after calling the ambulance for Joe. The place was right in the middle of getting shut down to fund payouts to families disturbed by pedophilic priests. Dean kind of liked the irony there, so he went with it, drew the symbols and said the words and waited.

She came in the shape of a woman, a surprisingly small one. She should have been beautiful. Like a leather jacket wearing chick in an 80's metal video, the best kind where the girls licked dry ice and wore lots of spandex. Even the big, ink black eyes and the feral way she paced along the edges of the hastily drawn devil's trap seemed to fit into the motif.

All Dean wanted was to tear her to shreds with his bare hands.

"Hey, Dean, my brother says your brother is delicious," she crooned, like she knew exactly where his head was and she smiled toothily an awful, magazine model bright smile. "Let me take him out for a spin and I might tell you what you wanna know."

Dean saw muzzy redness on the edges of his vision and everything else just narrowed down to her smiling, ink eyed evil bitch demon face. The sick way she laughed and said, "Come into the circle and hit me, if you want to so badly."

"Fuck you, bitch," he spat. Calm, he needed to be calm. He stared down into her smirking face and then down into the prayer book in his hand. "If you don't want a one way trip to hell, tell me how to free my brother."

Her face twisted like she was going to scream and she swayed. For a moment it was like she was barely standing upright, but then she smiled again, like she'd never wavered.

"Mmm… brothers. Mine has exotic tastes, never the easy ones. He likes to turn virgins into squealing, wide open pieces of flesh." She snorted and even her flaring nostrils were pretty, or should have been. She leaned forward, pressing her palms against the open air of the edges of the trap, like it was a glass wall.

"Did you know we have no power over virgins? Can't even touch one, not without their explicit consent. So your baby brother must have said yee-ss."

Dean could barely see her at all, but Sam— he could imagine Sam from back then, the Sam from before, skinny and awkward with a brightness that shone right through the sullen teenager thing he did. Dean tasted blood on his lower lip before he realized he was chewing at it. "You're a lying bitch," he muttered.

"Why would I lie?" she murmured and licked her lips. She took another step, until her whole body was pushed right up against the outlines of chalk that formed the trap. "My brother's a freak, you know. You think it's easy, getting the consent of a virgin without being able to use lust against them? It's not and I certainly don't bother. I prefer them well broken in, like you, pretty."

Dean shook his head. Sam was too smart to be tricked by some lust demon. Even then. Kid had known what he was seeing. "How did your—your brother do that?"

She laughed. A low, pretty sound, like water over glass. "He did it because of you, Dean. Thanks to you. You and your daddy fell right into my brother's trap and your sweet little boy gave his all to get you back."

Dean's whole body jerked toward her and it was a monumental effort of will not to reach right through the thin lines of chalk and salt that separated them and wind his hands around her neck. He had to breathe, had to stay calm. If he breached the circle, she'd have him.

She just smirked and raised an eyebrow and kept talking. "Brother dear was so thrilled when he realized what a prize you and your sad little daddy had brought into his reach. A hunter's virgin child that knew exactly what he was consenting to? A child with magic of his own to feed on. What could be hotter than that?"

Dean shivered. He could picture that in his head and he didn't want to. He didn't remember it happening, losing Sam, couldn't remember it however damn much he needed to. Sam, his Sam, who was too young and vulnerable and the thing, that incubus, just like this thing in front of him, laughing and laughing. Sam, who was all guts and stubbornness that came out at the worst possible times.

"He would know better than to do that for us." He wanted that to be true, because Sam should have known better, damnit.

"Oh, poor Dean. He knew everything. What was at stake, because his brave, brave brother and daddy had been stupid enough to fall into the hands of a demon." Then she smiled and paused, just watching Dean's face like she was drinking in his every reaction.

"You were at stake. You were the pry bar that forced your sweet baby brother's legs apart." She laughed even while Dean just shook his head. While his whole body shook, and everything hurt, like it was negative ten and the wind was howling.

"Shut up. You just shut up," he mumbled. His hands were fisted at his sides and he itched to pummel her to rubble. Not just her, that thing, that thing whose face he'd never seen, that thing that haunted his brother's nightmares like a curse. "Just tell me how to undo what that thing did to him. Tell me the fuck now."

"Oh, Dean, I am telling you," she crooned, the lying, lying bitch. "Don't you wanna listen? Don't you feel loved, knowing what your brother gave up for you?" She stood there, arms wide and smiling and smiling, glossy as an ad on TV. "And once poor little Sammy gave his consent and my brother shoved him down, spread his legs and fucked him, well, he wasn’t a virgin anymore… and then he was ripe to play with."

She fluttered her thick black lashes at Dean and rubbed a thumb over her red lower lip, like she was tempting him. "My brother made him ripe for anyone to play with. Even you, huh? Did you like dipping into that sweet body, knowing who and what else got the first taste? That he was a toy and—"

Dean shook his head. "Shut. The fuck. Up," he screamed. "You're not going to touch him." Like this demon was what he had to worry about. As if the freak that was touching Sam now was anyone but him.

She laughed. "But aren't you pleased? Wasn't he the sweet unknowing object of your sad little shower jerk-offs? You would never have had him without our intervention."

Red throbbed everywhere, clouding Dean’s vision, clouding her screams when he started shouting the Latin words of the exorcism at her.

"My brother is strong," she screamed. "He'll be back. He'll climb right out of hell and he'll take what's his. Take it and bend your mind so that you won't even know it's gone. Where's your brother now, Dean? Where is he now?"

Dean knew he was being stupid, incredibly stupid as the final words of the ritual spilled out of him. Too stupid to even think about what he was doing until the succubus had vanished in a cloud of black smoke and screams and he was left kneeling on the hard floor just as ignorant as he was when he'd first got here and thirty times as dumb.  
All of that for nothing.

\

When Dean slammed into the motel parking lot where he'd left Sam his heart was throbbing at double speed and somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. He tried to breathe, not to be freaked out. Sam was fine, or as fine as he was going to be until Dean fixed him. Sam had to be fine, no matter what the demon bitch had insinuated.

Sam wasn't a skinny, awkward teenager anymore, at least outside of Dean's head, so of course he was okay. It was everything inside of Dean's head that was in full throttle panic, that bitch's words replaying in his head over and over.

'You were the pry bar that forced your sweet baby brother's legs apart'. Insinuating. 'Wasn't he the object of your sad little shower jerk-offs?' Laughing, because it was true. Every word of it was true.

If he were any kind of decent human being, he'd—he didn't know. Not leave, not leave Sam alone like this, even if he maybe should. Just—

Dean stiffened his spine and pushed open the door. He did a quick survey of the room and his eyes caught right on his brother, sitting on the bed and fine. Absolutely fine, legs crossed, eyes closed and just as okay as Dean had known he was going to be. After a few deep breaths the fear that something might have happened to Sam eased off and Dean managed to get annoyed instead. Mostly at himself.

Sam managed to look ridiculously calm at stupid times. Times like right now, when Dean was just about jumping out of his own skin, thinking about him, worried as fuck about his crazy, self sacrificing brother, and Sam was… sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, palms up and limp and freaking meditating. Didn't even open his eyes to look at Dean when Dean walked in, because the little fucker knew exactly who it was.

In spite of everything, in spite of that demon bitch, what she'd said, the first thing Dean wanted to do was poke Sam and see if he had an off switch or something. Frustrating.

"Could you stop that?" he finally muttered, but didn't actually poke, because he was just that awesome. "You're spreading hippie vibes all over my stuff, dude."

Sam opened one eye a sliver, just enough that Dean could tell that under that calm exterior his brother was laughing at him. Dean really could have poked him then. Instead he crossed the short distance across the room, climbed onto the bed next to Sam and grabbed on, holding him hard. Burying himself in the heat and reality of Sam, here and at least outwardly whole. Sam was real.

"Hey, what's with the girly hug, Dean?" Sam murmured, but he let himself be held, even slid one of his own ridiculously long arms around Dean's shoulder and pulled him in. Sam's body was shaky against Dean's, but it was warm and strong.

Dean hadn't planned to say a word about the demon or what she'd told him, because it wouldn't do any good. Plans sucked.

"I'm gonna fix this," Dean whispered. He felt Sam's body go still against him.

"Okay," Sam said, and that was it. "Okay." Dean breathed him in, real and steady and here.

"Tell me it wasn't because of me," Dean said into the warm skin of Sam's neck. Stupid and he knew it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Sam couldn't tell him anything at all, that was the whole problem right there.

"What wasn't because of you?" Sam said, and Dean could feel the curve of his mouth against his skin. "Meditation? It's all about serenity, man, so no. Not because of you."

Dean twitched into an almost smile, but it didn't last. "I think I fucked up," Dean whispered, when Sam's hand curled around the back of his neck.

"You killed Joe?" Sam said. He sounded totally calm about it and Dean thought maybe he should have killed Joe, would have if he knew Sam would take it so well.

Still, he hadn't so he shook his head. "No, no, I swore I wouldn't. Dude."

"Right, so how is it that you fucked up?" Sam asked, and Dean could imagine the little eye roll so well he didn't bother to pull away to look for it. Sam's fingers stroking the back of his neck were enough right now. "If it was one of the hot little waitresses climbing into your lap, I wouldn't worry. Dude, you're doing me a favor, I think fidelity is more of a sacrifice than I'm going to ask from you."

Dean blinked and pulled away, his whole train of thought violently jerked off track. Sam really was doing that almost smile, eye roll thing, like he didn't much care. Serenity, he'd said.

Except there were thick, dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept much in the whole week that Dean had been gone and his hands were nothing like steady. Another stark reminder that Sam wasn't whole, wasn't well, that Dean hadn't helped him yet.

"Wait. What?" Dean managed.

"I'm serious. I know this sucks for you and—" Sam continued, making that stubborn, serious, _I am going to Stanford for your own good_ face.

"Dude. Shut up," Dean hissed, pure incredulity keeping him from getting out much more. Then there was a second in which he glared at Sam and Sam glared back and then Dean could talk again. "For me? This sucks for me? Sam, I'm not the one this sucks for."

Sam shrugged and looked away, which made it a little easier for Dean to think. "I've had time to get used to it." Like that was going to make Dean feel better. "All I mean is, I know screwing your kid brother isn't your idea of a good time. I get that."

Dean's mouth hung open and he stared at Sam's flushed, turned away face. Sometimes the things Sam said were just amazingly insane. He forgot why the kid was supposed to be smart. "Um. Have you been there during the sex? Because I had a good time," he spluttered. He could feel the heat of blush soaking his skin and it was just embarrassing was what it was. Which, he wouldn't even mind if he could figure out how to fix this. "You'd have noticed if I wasn't having a good time. Why are we talking about this now?"

Sam shifted and gave him another look, and yeah, he definitely had dark circles under his eyes. Like bruises. Dean didn't need to be thinking about Sam and bruises. "You brought it up," Sam muttered.

"I did not!" Dean said, pure irritation sputtering out of him, because it wasn't fair at all when Sam decided he meant what he hadn't even said. "I wasn't even talking about that. I meant I fucked up and summoned a demon then exorcised it before she actually told me shit." Dean stopped abruptly once the words spilled out. That probably had not been a good way to bring it up.

Sam stared at him, mouth hanging open in a look that would have been amusingly dumb if Dean weren't sure he was gonna get it in the mouth any second now. "Wait. What?" Sam finally said. "You did what? You don't—are you insane?"

"I didn't promise it anything," Dean muttered. "I just. This curse thing, we're no closer to finding a way out of it than we were six months ago. I can't just leave you like this." Not fixed, not well, not his Sammy.

Dean's fault, but Sam just rolled his eyes. Well, not just, because this was not the 'you're annoying' eye roll, more like the 'I'm going to kill you now, I'm plotting how' eye roll. This was the 'you think superglue was bad, wait until you see what's next, bitch' eye roll of doom. Sam's voice was tight. "That's sweet. How the hell do you think you'd leave me if you got yourself fucking killed, Dean?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not—" Dean stumbled over the instant retort and then looked past the angry face and at Sam. Sam was… Sam was shaking. Not hard, he was stiff like he was trying to suppress it, but it was there when Dean looked.

Tension, like he was wound up tight and getting worse by the second. Dean hadn't seen him like that since—not since they'd first started traveling together, after Jess. When Sam stayed in every night, not ever touching anyone. When he shook all the time like a junkie crashing and didn't sleep and woke up screaming whenever he did.

Dean had just figured it was because of losing Jess, because of everything, but now, now he knew, like he should have known all along. When they were younger, Sam had barely gone three days in a row without going out. Definitely not a week, definitely not months. This was the curse, the leash that fucking thing had put on his brother. The worst thing was that Dean recognized it now. He'd seen Sam like this before, had actually seen it and more than once, and not even known what he was seeing.

This time it was Dean's own fault. He was the one who'd made Sam promise not to fuck anyone else, had made him wait for Dean to get whatever he needed. And this, this was not just one more fucked up thing in their fucked up lives and this was not the fulfillment of Dean's even more fucked up fantasies.

This was Sam shivering and restless as a junkie kept from a fix. Sam wasn't whole but he was his. Dean was supposed to keep this from happening.

"Shit," Dean hissed. "Shit. Shit. A week, I didn't think a week would be—I didn't think." He reached out, grabbing Sam by the shoulders and tugging him in hard, feeling the heat of his skin and the way the shaking got slower as Sam relaxed against him.

"Yeah, thinking isn't one of your strong points," Sam mumbled. He shut right up when Dean caught him by that sensitive spot on the wrists and pushed him hard into the bed. Sam's hips slid right up to meet him and Dean could feel the thick need in him, worse than arousal, almost like a living thing crawling through his skin.

"Sorry," Dean whispered into the hollow between Sam's neck and collar. He bit down lightly, right there, and Sam shuddered hard and then went loose against him. Was his, so very much his that Dean wondered if Sam really was defective or insane to think Dean would rather have some stupid waitress. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

"S'okay," Sam whispered, sounding so much like a little kid it almost terrified Dean. His face was red and hot under Dean's hand and his eyes were cast down. "I. Please just—"

"Okay," Dean said. He rubbed his thumb over Sam's cheek, feeling the heat throbbing under the skin and tried to think. Sam needed, Sam was just about whining with need, like Dean's touch on him had pushed away the last scrambles for serenity.

"Dean," Sam said, and his mouth looked so red, so sweet, that Dean couldn't help but dip his fingers inside and feel lips and teeth part for him. So hot, Sam moaning around his fingers, sucking on them like he really, really needed it.

Dean's hips rocked against Sam hard, pressing into the hollow of his hip. He gasped.

"More," Sam whined, whimpered when the fingers slid out. "I need it to be—if you could just—please." Those green-blue eyes squeezed close and Sam's mouth trembled, like he couldn't bear to ask for what he needed. Dean wanted to shush him, wanted to say Sam didn't have to, but fuck, fuck, he didn't know what to do to make the shaking stop.

"Tell me what you need," he demanded. Caught Sam's chin between his hands and glared him down. "Just say it."

"You could. You could fuck me," Sam whispered, baby soft and huge eyed, like saying it out loud was a challenge, like it hurt. Dean wasn't sure whether to be terrified or let it go right to his dick, because Sam didn't ask for sex, Sam always made him guess. Sam never asked but this time Dean had made him do it. "You could fuck my… fuck my mouth. You'd like that?"

And that was it, that would have been it from really anyone. Short circuit from dick on up. Dean swallowed. "Um. Yeah." Except, this wasn't just anyone. "You don't have to. If it's weird."

Sam gave a hoarse broken sounding laugh. "You kinda suck at this, you know that?" he mumbled. And then he took a shaky breath. "Jess and I used to play this game, right?"

Dean perked up. Hearing about Sam and sex was mostly just gonna piss him right out of being able to have sex, but... Jess... he could get behind that. That girl. Yeah. "Yeah?" he pushed.

"It was stupid," Sam muttered and flushed like it wasn't stupid at all. "I mean. We'd play, like it was the first time. When we did new things, that we hadn't done together, but that I—like—had done."

"Huh," Dean whispered. He wondered vaguely how much he had to thank her for. For his brother's life and sanity and the rest of it. Jesus. "You can't really do that with a girl, can you?" Dildos, maybe? Which brought to mind Sam and Jess and dildos which made Dean decide that hell yes, he could do this. He shifted his legs uncomfortably.

Sam was still flushed, redder if anything. "No. It's not the same. Would you. Um. Please? If you want." Like there was a chance in a billion that Dean wouldn't want. Like his dick and most of his brain wouldn't reach out and strangle the rest of him.

He cupped his hand around the back of Sam's neck and tugged him up, kissing him hard and wet, so that he knew he was making himself clear. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah. I want. I want to be your first time."

Sick, sick, fucked up as it was, he did want to, wished he had been for real. Maybe if he hadn't been so caught up in not looking at Sam then, maybe if he had done that none of this would have happened. It couldn't have fucking hurt more anyway.

"Okay," Sam whispered, lips pressed up against Dean's, close enough to feel his breath. "Cool." And then he grinned so that Dean actually knew it was okay. "Dude, as much as you whine about girl shit, you talk way too much about this."

Dean laughed. "Shut it, bitch," he murmured, like it was an endearment.

"Now that's my Dean," Sam said and Dean decided it really was time to shut him up and the best way was to give him just what he was asking for.

He kissed Sam again, taking his mouth and sliding his tongue right in. Hot mouth, so wide and wet and fucking easy and Dean knew just what it would feel like around his dick taking him deep. He moaned into it and shoved Sam back hard onto the bed. Sam went with it, easy and limber as a stripper, taking the kiss like he'd been starving for it.

Getting Dean out of his jeans was tricky and somehow he ended up with them around his ankles while he straddled Sam. It was a bad position, all the fuck out of balance like anything would tip him over but so damn steady when Sam grabbed his ass and dug in hard enough to mark.

It was good, it was good, it gave good the finger and went right to fucking incredible when Sam fucking slid his cheek against Dean's dick and left a strand of precome shining on his face. Dean wanted to just lick it off, but Sam wasn't having it.

He just gave this stupid grin and Dean could feel the heat of him between his thighs. So fucking good and then Sam's mouth was on him and Dean lost his mind. Sam made this sound, this awful, needy whiny sound, like he'd been crawling through the desert and Dean's fucking dick was manna. Then another sound, almost gagging as his throat opened up and that was… no and Dean tried to pull back.

Except Sam wouldn't let go, and those giant sasquatch hands had Dean by the hips and dragged him down so hard and deep he could actually see the outline of himself down the line of Sam's throat. Sam's face was red and white and his eyes were right on Dean like there was nothing else, like this was the whole damned thing.

His mouth was… was… too much, fuck. Dean whimpered and pulled back and then down again and fuck. Fuck. Out, all the way out, and he was just gone, fucking painting Sam's red, red mouth and redder cheeks with streaks of come like this art or insanity. There was heat like a line on his back, so hot right through the thin, half on half-tugged off T-shirt he'd been wearing. It took him a second to realize it was Sam— that Sam had just come on his back with hands spread out over his head. Without Dean so much as touching his dick.

That was almost enough to get him there again, just knowing that, just looking into Sam's wide eyed, sharp boned face, streaked with Dean all over him. Dean's Sam. Too soon, though, too soon. He drew in sharp, gasping breaths, sliding down Sam's body until they were pressed face to face, sharing air.

"Hey," he mumbled, and was vaguely surprised he could talk at all. "Hey." He kissed Sam's red cheeks and tasted himself. Fuck.

"Lemme," he whispered, without bothering to say what he wanted Sam to let him do and Sam just nodded through whatever haze he was in, just nodded yes to whatever it was Dean wanted. So Dean did it, he stroked his tongue over Sam's mouth, just tasting, taking. Over his cheeks and the hard, strong lines of his face, licking messy and wild, so fucking hungry he barely knew what he was doing, he just had to have it all right now. Over Sam's nose and Sam gave this vague half grin and his hands slid over Dean's back, right through the slippery streaks of come.

"Hey, so you're mine," Dean whispered, because he couldn't say anything else, there were no words. "You're with me and you're gonna be okay."

Sam just nodded and held on hard, hands over new bruises that hadn't had time to start to ache yet. "Thank you," Sam murmured in this utterly hoarse, fucked out croak. Like he had anything to thank Dean for really, but Dean went with it.

He tried not to wonder what would happen next, when he finally did fix Sam. What it would be like if Sam decided not to touch him anymore. What it would be like if Sam didn't.

[Part 2](http://vaingirlfic.livejournal.com/21718.html)


	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn't know what he'd have done next if he hadn't had a call from Bobby at some ridiculous hour of the morning when Sam was out jogging because apparently Sam could still do that after marathon sex. Kind of disgusting, actually.

"I think I finally found some direction for you on that problem you mentioned, Dean," Bobby said, and Dean could picture him smiling into the phone. Dean repressed the urge to say he could have hurried it up a little, because with what Dean had and hadn't told him Bobby would have had no idea he was supposed to.

"Yeah?" Dean said, trying not to sound pissed, which was easier than he expected and probably also had something to do with marathon sex. "What's that?"

"Could be nothing, but I thought it was worth looking into," Bobby said, all slow and mild and, okay, sex didn't make up for everything. Dean still really wanted to reach through the phone and shake him. "There's an old monastic order, call themselves the Guardians, used to be affiliated with the Catholic Church but broke off during the reformation. They apparently specialized in dealing with certain types of demonic inference, especially involving Succubi."

"They're still around?" Dean asked quickly. A specialist. A specialist could be good, could tell him what the fuck he was supposed to do.

"I didn't think so at first, they went way underground a few hundred years ago and there's not much known after that. But I was looking through Jim Murphy's old books last week and it looked like he might have been talking to them." Bobby sounded pleased enough with himself that Dean couldn't help feeling happy too. Hopeful.

"Yeah? So where are these monk dudes?" he demanded into the phone. A lead, his brain sang, an actual lead.

"See, that's the real question. According to Jim's notes they move around a lot. He knew where they were a year ago, but if they're still there… no clue."

"So how do we find them?"

"Well, I'm gonna email you boys my notes and- you said you boys are in Boston? There are a few good sources at the Houghton Library at Harvard. Old books, but these guys had a system of how they moved around. Very methodical. I'll email the citations to you, Sam will know what to look for."

Dean nodded along as if Bobby could see him. "Yeah, sounds good, man," he said, and hoped it was good. He really wasn't sure how much help to him Sam was going to be on this gig. Whatever the curse and the silence it forced on Sam was, it meant help from him would be very limited, but hopefully not limited enough to keep Sam from digging into old books and finding a bunch of monks.

Dean didn't even want to think about having to do that himself.

"And, Dean, be careful. I don't know much about the details of the case you're working." Dean could almost hear the mild annoyance in Bobby's tone at that, but it wasn't like he was going to go blabbing Sam's secrets to the world. "But these guys are apparently old school. You know, destroy the victim to save the victim."

Dean bit down on his lower lip. Okay, so that was no good. "Right," he mumbled. "Right. Thanks. I appreciate the heads up, Bobby. But, they know their shit? Pastor Jim thought so?"

"Oh, hell yeah. Jim thought they were experts and he'd know."

"I'll find them then," Dean said firmly. No one was destroying Sam, but right now he had pretty much nothing and this was a straw he could grasp at.

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he expected when he brought the news back to Sam, but it wasn't for him to tap his fingers against the chair he was sitting on, make a nasty face and go, "Huh. Them."

"You’ve heard of them?" Dean raised an eyebrow because that was the sort of thing he'd think Sam would have mentioned before now.

"I— Pastor Jim— " Sam started and then stopped short. He gave Dean a blank stare, on the rolling edge of white panic and then jumped on his feet and staggered into the bathroom to lose his lunch. Curse, Dean figured. It had to be.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and poured him water, but he wasn't actually too upset and neither was Sam, who just said, "When we get there, don't hit anyone, dude." The curse acting up meant they were on the right track.

It apparently wasn't enough to keep Sam from getting them into the Houghton library. The place turned out to be open to anyone with two forms of ID and some affiliation, all of which they could fake easily enough, especially with Sam being around and so clearly knowing the right things to say. Kid actually had the girl at the desk simpering and offering to help him with his research by the end of it and Dean could just watch and feel a warm glow of pride. Nice to see Sammy could still pull the chicks right in

Sam took them back into the reading room with the right books like he'd been born in the library and knew exactly where to find things. Dean, who decided he'd been born under the hood of a car and didn't give a shit, found that strangely hot.

Especially when all he had to do was prop his head on his palms and let Sammy read quietly to him.

"So, the guardians were pretty out there, independent of the church. They didn't swear any of the usual vows associated with holy orders. Well, except for chastity, which makes sense if you're dealing with Incubi or Succubi," Sam said. He held one hand hovering over the page of the manuscript he was reading, like he wasn't quite sure if he should be touching it. Which was weird, because usually he drooled over old books like this.

Then again, there was a lot of weird in this whole thing. "Vows of chastity? Dude, who'd want that? It can't be healthy, sex demons or no demons," Dean muttered and shook his head.

Sam fingered the book, just staring down at it, grazing the letters over and over with the tips of fingers and nail. "It sounds fine to me. Nice," he said softly. "Chastity. The root of the word means pure. In body and mind."

Dean shrugged and tried not to read anything into that other than Sam being a geek, but he really couldn't. It made Dean wonder what kind of drugs his little brother was on to think he was anything but, sex or no sex. "Yeah, whatever. You already are, man."

Sam blinked and stared up at him, with these wide rings of hazel eyes, the pupils like little black points in the bright light. "Is that alien Dean logic?" he asked. Annoyance cracked his voice and Dean felt the answering anger in his gut. Sick rage, and so much of it he had to push it away to be able to think at all, even if it wasn't pointed at Sam. "You know where I—what I—"

"Dude, just because I'm not a geek doesn't mean no one threw the Latin at me," Dean said. He put his hands on top of Sam's, over the worn, yellowing pages. "Castus. The root of chaste is castus, right? And all it means is pure. Morally pure, uncorrupted. Free of faults. Nothing even to do with sex, until the meaning drifted, at least."

Sam rolled his eyes but he did that twitchy not quite smile thing that normally came out when he was only pretending to be pissed and didn't pull his hands away from Dean's. "We're a long way away from when the meaning drifted, Dean."

Dean smirked at him and watched that twitch get that much closer to a real smile in response. "Yeah, exactly. So we can get over other people's sad little morality plays, right? You're pure. You're such a pathetic little geek boy that, actually, any definition of pure that doesn't include you is kinda stupid."

"Jerk," Sam said, but he threaded his fingers through Dean's and hung on hard for a long moment before sliding free and turning back to the book. "Anyway, back to the business at hand." He peered up from under his lashes and grinned, suddenly and brightly. "And don't think I'm gonna forget you said that. Free of faults." He snorted.

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes, but he wasn't very good at even pretending to be annoyed just now, not when he was grinning back. The weird thing was, he could sort of see it, Sam as a monk or whatever, nice to everyone, kind, because he was Sam, but never touching them.

Sam just turned right back to the book and went at it, humming tunelessly to himself and taking little notes on yellow paper in his impossibly wide, curvy handwriting. Dean put his hand on Sam's back, because the idea of no one touching Sam at all kind of freaked him out. Sam just sighed and leaned into the touch but kept on working. Dean got into the rhythm of just watching him work, so much so that it was almost a physical blow when Sam stopped abruptly and dropped the pen he'd been holding with lips and fingers and just stared straight ahead.

Dean got him by the shoulder, thinking, oh fuck, vision. Why the fuck now? Sam made this whimpering sound and leaned right up against Dean, squeezing his eyes closed and gasping for breath.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, even knowing it was useless to try to pull him out of it.  
It seemed like forever before Sam sucked in a huge breath and crashed right back down into reality, grabbing at Dean as he did.

"We're going to Baltimore," Sam said first thing, sharp, like the headache Dean knew he had didn't hurt at all. "They're in Baltimore."

"You figure that out from the book?" Dean asked, even though he knew the answer and Sam looked up at him with a blank death's head smile.

"No," he said, like it was an important point. "No. But I fucking would have."

"I know," Dean said and pressed his palm against Sam's forehead where he could practically see the throbbing of the headache coming on. "I know you would have." The look on Sam's face told him it was enough, at least for now.

On the way back to the car, Dean bit his tongue and asked, "Why a vision, though, why now?"

Sam stared right ahead into the red brick and nightmare traffic of Harvard Square like none of it was even there. "It has plans for me. Maybe it’s tired of some other demon interfering?" he muttered.

Dean just nodded. When they climbed into the Impala he cranked the Stones up loud and didn't say another word until they hit the highway.

\

They stopped for drinks off I-88 in what was possibly the dirtiest bar in upstate New York. Dean got a pool game in, humming his way into a few hundred and feeling more or less content with his world since they were going the right way. Doing something.

Sam just laughed at him and retreated to a corner to do something dirty with his laptop or whatever.

Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything when he saw some guy slide into the seat across from Sam and lean in like he had some big secret. He watched though, careful as he could while Sam tilted an eyebrow all the way up and gave that fake bored shrug and shook his head. The guy kept talking and Sam shook his head again.

Dean put his pool cue carefully and was about to head over that way when Sam said something else to the guy, pointing a thumb in Dean's direction.

The guy's mouth fell open when he looked at Dean and he gave this incredibly irritating whistle that Dean could actually hear from across the bar. Sam smirked while the guy's back was turned, a real grin aimed right at Dean. And then the little bastard went right back to his laptop while the guy strode over in Dean's direction. Dean rolled his eyes.

The guy was really a kid, no older than Sam was. That made it weird even if he was linebacker bulky, had the dumbest looking smile Dean had ever seen. The dumb would have prejudiced Dean against him anyway even if he hadn't said the rest.

"So, is he your boyfriend?" the kid exclaimed sounding squeaky as he tilted his chin toward Sam. Which was actually kind of funny, given the size of him.

Dean blinked. Whoa. Broadside. Like that was a question he'd ever get used to. "Um, why?"

"You're fucking lucky, that's why," the kid told him, so puppy eager it hurt. "Dude, I'm not ever gonna forget him. He like… it was. Wow."

Dean narrowed his eyes and actually started to wonder what the hell this was about. "Um. Okay?"

"He like. In this bathhouse down in Frisco," the kid began and he had Dean wincing at bathhouse. _Frisco_ really didn't help. "He like took on the whole place I swear to fuck. It was… wow. Good. Like, he did everything."

Dean's smile froze. "No kidding? Everything?" he said in a low, almost soothing voice. "So, you came over here to tell me that, huh?"

The kid went right on smiling. "He said I had to ask you if he could… you know. Dude. You are so lucky."

"If he could you know?" Dean repeated, soft and curious. His hands curled lightly against his sides.

"You know. Blow me. First he said he wouldn't." The kid raised an eyebrow and smiled like that was oh so unbelievable. "And then he said he was yours and I had to ask your permission."

"Ah," Dean said carefully and looked over the kid's shoulder to where Sam was studiously bent over his laptop, typing away like he wasn't watching all of this out of the corner of his eye. Dean wondered if this was a test, if Sam actually wanted… but he said no.

"So is he yours or not?" the kid persisted. Way in the back, Sam finally raised his head and gave Dean the sweetest, widest and absolutely least informative or in any way helpful smile ever.

Dean figured he was on his own with this one. He smiled back at Sam and stood up carefully. "So. Kid. You want to touch my boyfriend?"

"He said I had to ask you," the kid agreed, nodding away.

"Well. Why don't we go out back and discuss it?" Dean purred. "I mean, I wanna know what I get out of the arrangement."

"I've got a hundred," the kid offered eagerly and Dean's smile twitched and his body stiffened.

"Right," he said and got up abruptly. The kid followed him out back, but Dean was the only one who wandered back in about fifteen minutes later, shaking out his knuckles and with an extra hundred in his wallet.

He slid up beside Sam, tapping him on the shoulder to get him out of geek mode. Sam leaned up and gave that same sweet, toothy grin. For some reason Dean's dick decided that was his cue and he had to shift were he was standing.

"Have fun, Dean?" Sam teased, like he was about two seconds from giggling.

"Dude. That totally was not cute. At all," Dean muttered.

"So I guess you told that kid no, huh?" Sam said and then he actually did fucking giggle. Little bastard.

"You are not funny," Dean ground out, but he had to bite his tongue not to giggle back, aching knuckles and all.

"I did a lot of really stupid shit," Sam said when he'd stopped laughing. He was looking down at Dean's cut up knuckle, focused on that. "You know some of it."

"Dude--" Dean began and until Sam's hand on his stopped him. Sam's face had gone still and serious and Sam ran a finger over the bruises. Gentle, but it still made Dean wince.

"I didn't know what I was doing," Sam said, directed more to Dean's hand then his face. "It's hard enough for a sixteen year old kid to figure out how to deal with sex, period. That kind of sex? Forget it. So I screwed up. I screwed up a lot."

Dean curled his hands around Sam's and shook his head. He wanted to tell Sam that he hadn't, that, fuck, seriously, no one could have done better. He couldn't even imagine having done better. But Sam wasn't looking at him and Dean knew he wouldn't hear it the way Dean wanted to say it, if only because Dean sucked at words.

"So," Sam continued, hard and fast, barely stopping for breath. "So I wanted you to know that. You don't have to go around punching people for me either, you know? Because, seriously, that would be a full time job and I'm not sixteen and I can actually take care of myself so--"

"Sam," Dean said sharply, tightening his fingers around Sam's hard enough to get his attention. "Sammy, stop." Because if Sam didn't stop Dean was going to have to go right back out and find someone else to hit.

A moment of silence later and Sam tried to tug his hand away, but Dean held on.  
"Sorry," Sam mumbled. He was flushed painfully red, like he'd been slapped. "Said too much again?"

"I want to," Dean said. "Okay?"

"Want to what?" Sam asked.

"Want to punch people for you. You know I want to, you totally set the guy up so I could," Dean added, almost accusingly. "I want to and you want me to."

Sam shrugged, but he stopped trying to pull away. Finally, finally he looked up, looked Dean in the eye. "Yeah, well, there are a lot of things you don't know," he said. "That guy isn't… there are other… if I had a little black book it would be really, really long."

"Sam," Dean said, as calmly as he could. He knew damn well they weren’t really talking about punching people anymore, he knew Sam that well. Not that it mattered. "Fuck them. Okay? Fuck them. I want to. Whatever you want, I want it too."

Sam let out a harsh breath and nodded, like Dean had finally, finally said the right thing. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

He walked out of the place with one arm around Sam's shoulder and for the first time since Islip, since even before that, he thought that maybe this was going to work out okay.

\

Baltimore was sweaty as someone's undeodorized pit hair, as far as Dean was concerned, and it stank just as bad. If not the whole town then at least this greasy warehouse did, sitting right across from what looked like a thriving crack den based on the clientele. It was way more Dean's kind of town than fucking college student and white bread infected Boston so he breathed it right in.

This was the place, this was where he was gonna get the answers he needed for Sam. Every hunter-trained instinct was screaming at him and he was almost bouncing on his heels.

Sam stuck close enough for Dean to feel the heat of his skin. Sam always seemed to walk a little closer to Dean these days, like the sex had erased whatever lines of space were left between them. He had his jaw pressed tight and his hand twitching constantly to his gun, which was completely not like Sam and had Dean that much more on edge.

"So this is the place?" Dean asked softly even though he could tell by Sam's face that it pretty much was.

Sam just shrugged for a response and kept walking, like he knew Dean was gonna keep pace. And that was good, that was the biggest relief so far, that Sam at least knew that.

Sam stopped at the door and turned to look at Dean over his shoulder. "This," he said softly. "Don't expect too much from this." Like the books and the vision and the pull of the curse didn't mean a damned thing, which Dean knew wasn't right. With Sam it was just damn hard to tell.

"Okay, whatever," Dean said anyway. He hung back just a little so he'd be at a good angle to get anything that went for Sam.

Sam took a deep, harsh breath, like he was bracing himself for something and then hit the buzzer on the door. Dean wasn't sure how long they were supposed to wait, what to do if it was too long, but it was only a few seconds before the door creaked open, like someone had been waiting for them.

The man, and Dean thought it was a man even though it could have been anything under the formless, faceless cassock and cowl of burlap, just stood there framed by the door and watched him first, like he knew Dean was the one with the gun ready. He turned from Dean almost immediately and focused right on Sam, who was waiting a few steps in front of him.

"So, boy," he said and brought the cowl down, revealing a thin, grizzled face, like an old outdoorsman. "It's been a good many years. You haven't changed."

"Brother Fidelius," Sam said and bowed his head but his fists clenched. "The banishing you gave me worked."

The man's eyes widened, like that was a huge surprise, totally unexpected, which Dean didn't like one bit. "Good," he said. "That's good." His gaze flicked over Sam and back to Dean. "You'd better come in. You and your…"

"Dean. That's Dean," Sam said, and that was it.

The dude frowned and it looked right on him like his face was made for frowning. "Sins of the flesh aren't welcome here, as you will remember."

Sam's mouth twisted. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember." Dean didn't like that tone, didn't like the monk's face, and didn't like this shitty building. Didn't like the way Sam kept just out of touching range any better than the rest of it.

They followed Fidelius into a long, narrow room with nothing but a few metal foldout chairs and a desk. Fidelius sat behind the desk and Dean in front of it before he realized Sam was just going to hover a few paces behind Dean's chair.

Fidelius looked at Dean, but was obviously speaking to Sam. "Why do you expect us to help you now?"

"I did what you asked," Sam said, more softly than Dean would have expected him to speak with that kind of attitude shoved at him. "Banished the demon."

"You took years to do so," Fidelius said in the most dismissive tone Dean had ever heard. He had to bite back a growl and it was only Sam's hand on his shoulder that kept him from jumping to his feet.

"I wasn't ready before," Sam said. His fingers curled around Dean's shoulder and tightened hard. "It would have pulled the intent right out my mind."

"Excuses for your own fears," the monk snapped. "I repeat, why do you expect us to help you now?"

Somehow that was just it, the end. "You don't talk to him like that," Dean said and surprised himself by how steady it was, like he wasn't even angry. "If you can't help him, just admit you're fucking useless and we'll get out of your way."

"Dean," Sam hissed, like it was Dean he was angry at. Dean's knuckles were itching and he hated the fact that it was okay with Sam that this bastard who didn't know anything at all talked to him like that.

"No," Dean said. It might be okay with Sam, but it wasn't ever going to be fine with Dean. And looking out for Sam was his job. "No, I won't let someone talk to you like that."

"So we should honor a creature that dealt with demons?" Fidelius said and tilted a brow. "Is that what you believe, boy?"

"No," Dean snapped out without thinking about it. "That's not—" He turned up and looked at Sam who was red faced and tight-lipped behind him. "Fuck that." He put his hand over Sam's so Sam would know that he knew what utter bullshit it all was. Sam's fingers clutched at his and Dean relaxed just a little.

"You're a fool," Fidelius said and he gave a stupid, smug little smile that made Dean want to pound him down just like he'd done that kid in New York, just like he'd do anyone that so much as looked at Sam like that where Dean could see them.

"Enough, Brother." A second voice. Another monk and Dean made a sour face at the man at the door. Great, more of the fuckers. This one looked even older, white-haired with cloudy blue eyes.

"Brother Aurelius," Fidelius said. "I was just—"

"It's enough. The boy has done as we required of him. Let them see the mirror," New Guy... Aurelius said.

"Mirror? What?" Sam said, too fast, like he knew something or he was just thinking of something. Dean just shut up and let him get to it.

"The mirror is a tool," Fidelius said sourly. "A gift of God to allow us to examine the contents of a mind that has been closed off by the demonic."

"You mean read my mind," Sam said softly. Dean could feel him tremble under his palm and started to rub in slow, soothing circles. "Pick out what... what happened. Out of my mind."

"You should consider yourself honored," Fidelius said and Dean went stiff again; the sound of the fucker's voice was starting to get right up there with tin whistles and fingernails on chalk boards. "We won't often delve into souls that are tainted."

"Oh, fuck you people—" Dean began, only to get cut off by Sam.

"I wouldn't have you anyway. Dean. Dean can do it," Sam said quietly like he wasn't still shaky.

"What? No."

"There isn't even an arcane ritual associated is there? Anyone can do it. Dean will do it," Sam repeated firmly, sounding sure. Dean sure as fuck hoped he was sure.

It was Aurelius who spoke next. "It is acceptable."

"I don't think—fine. On your head be it," Fidelius muttered and stalked out. Dean could almost feel Sam relax under his hand. He hated this, hated the way Sam had seemed to almost disappear into himself from the moment they'd walked through the door into this little hellhole.

"It generally is," Aurelius said. He gestured to Dean and Sam to follow him. "Come on then."

They walked down the hall, Dean feeling about ten seconds and one nasty comment from saying fuck it and grabbing Sam to get him out. Then there was another room, with some bizarrely fancy keypad that Aurelius dialed to get open.

The mirror hung on the back wall, covered with dull black cloth.

"I've read about that," Sam murmured, reaching out to pull the cloth back. "I didn't think it existed."

Uncovered, the mirror was a thick, dull bronze color. Everything it reflected came out coppery green and distorted. Dean frowned down at it and gave Aurelius his best glare.

"So, what, this will let me read his mind? If that was gonna work why didn't… I don't know, some psychic pick it up from him and say something before this?" He thought about Missouri, who'd seemed to take a real shine to his brother. At least she'd have said something, right?

"That I couldn't say," Aurelius said with a shrug. Dean’s glare bounced right off, because they were both too busy watching Sam. Who was ignoring them to finger the inscriptions on the mirror and muttering something about demonic lore and rites. "Maybe he doesn't thoughts know how to break the curse himself. Maybe most psychics are only good with surface. Especially if they don't know they're meant to be looking for something more. This should work."

"Should?" Dean said.

"There are no promises, boy. I said he might not know. I very much doubt that, though." Aurelius spoke and Sam raised his head from his examination long enough to roll his eyes and look reassuringly Sam-like, as if he were going to come out with a 'standing right here, people' any second. He didn't.

"Why?" Dean asked softly.

Aurelius gave a shrug. "It would be crueler if he did know. Twisting human souls for that last ounce of suffering is what the incubi are all about."

Dean tried not to shudder. Sam was here, not with that thing that had hurt him, Sam was going to be okay. Nothing wrong with him that couldn't be fixed. "What do I do?"

"Watch him in the mirror and let yourself sink," Aurelius said, like that explained anything. He was still looking at Sam. "Fidelius is a good gate keeper and his hatred of the demonic is unchallenged," he said softly. "It doesn't make him right."

Sam didn't say anything but he went visibly still for a moment and then nodded. Dean just shrugged, because that was fucking obvious. He just waited until Aurelius walked out of the room and took a deep breath.

"Right. Let's do this," he muttered.

"You don't have to," Sam said, startlingly after the long silence. "It will be really ugly."

"Well, duh. And so's your face," Dean spluttered and gave Sam a smack on the back of the head because, hello, stupid. "Now sit the fuck down and look in the damned magic mirror, Snow White."

Sam grinned and nodded; not looking exactly relaxed but better. He looked in the damned mirror too, so Dean's work was done.

Dean braced himself for fuck knew what and looked too.

_It was fucking freaky, was what it was. Like what Dean imagined being a ghost might be like, which he actually tried to not imagine in general. Distorted, the world gone out of focus, like everything was just too off center for him to be able to touch or change._

_He could see okay, though. He could see Sam. Young, Sam was young, with those giant paws he called hands and feet all out of proportion to the rest of him._

_Sam was kneeling on a bare wooden floor, naked and with his wrists tied behind his back, shaking visibly. For a second Dean thought he was alone but then a second shape stepped out of the gloomy corner of the room._

_It was… it was beautiful. Dean should have expected that, but hadn't. Its hair was black and shining, even in the dim light and it hung on the border of male and female, with curves and bulges in the right places to be either one. It showed its teeth when it smiled and they were a blinding white, white enough for a magazine._

_He recognized it, but he didn't know why or where from and it fucking itched at his brain, but it was Sam he was focused on._

_"Good morning, Sam,” it crooned and Sam shuddered violently at the sound of its voice. "Or is it afternoon? It's so easy to lose track, isn't it?”_

_All Dean wanted was to put a bullet through that smirking mouth and then grab Sam, wrap him up and carry him out of here. It didn't matter that he knew this wasn't even real, was a memory, and that he was too damned fucking late._

_He couldn't do it. His hands slid right through both Sam and the creature like they were air and neither of them turned to look at him._

_It smiled. It smiled the whole time, while it put its hands on Sam's naked shoulders and pushed him down so that his forehead was pressed to the floor and he was balanced on spread thighs. Carefully, like it was posing a doll. Sam was as quiet as a doll; the only sounds from him were horrible gulps for air that weren't quite sobs._

_Dean couldn't watch. Not this, he just couldn't, even if he should, even if Sam had lived through it and seeing it was the least he could do. He put his hands over his eyes and mouth and screamed into them._

_The world tilted it on its axis, as if the scream had torn it off. When Dean opened his eyes again he was in another room and there was sunlight pouring in through white, filmy curtains. He took a harsh breath and looked around to find that the world had definitely changed._

_There were books everywhere, scattered in piles on every available surface except for the bed, but that wasn't what caught Dean's attention._

_It was Sam. Older, he was older, almost grown into his body. Sam lay on the sturdy wooden bed, naked and stretched out over the white sheets, his cock bobbing between his legs and his head tilted up, looking wide eyed at someone in the doorway. Dean could see the black straps of leather, cuffs on his wrists and ankles with dull silver buckles. They were attached to the bed with some kind of straps, keeping Sam attached to the bed too, held fast and tight and there couldn't be a lot of give in those._

_But it was the look on Sam's face that made Dean shiver, made him want this to be real, want to be able to touch him so damned much. Sam's lips were parted and his eyes wide open, shining, all for whoever he was looking at. Dean didn't want to look at anyone but him._

_"Ma'am,” Sam whispered, the full weight of his eyes on that other person. His hips shifted and Dean could see the slick precome on his cock, could almost taste it if he licked his lips. "Please. Please.” Dean knew that if Sam looked at him like that there'd be no fucking question of him getting whatever it was he was asking for._

_"Sam,” the other person said, in this ridiculously calm, steady voice. "Breathe for me.”_

_Dean wasn't surprised at all that it was Jess, but he had to stifle a low whistle even if no one could hear him anyway. Jess was naked, soft breasts swinging in time with her swaying hair when she walked. Beautiful ass, smooth and round. Her eyes were steady as the rest of her and tightly focused, like all she saw was Sam in the same way he could only see her._

_She had a little blue bowl in one hand and her bare feet made soft whispering noises as she walked across the room to Sam. She knelt on the foot of the bed between his spread legs and laid the bowl on his chest. Sam shivered, almost a wince and his cock jerked visibly. Dean moaned in sympathy._

_"Cold,” Sam mumbled._

_"Yeah,” Jess whispered. She leaned forward and kissed Sam lightly on the stomach, just below where the bowl rested. "It's ice. You wanna know where that's going to go?”_

_Sam gave a quick, jerky nod. "God, fuck, Jess,” he said. His hands twitched in their bonds and Dean wanted to touch those hands so much, to stroke and calm. Almost as much as he wanted to sit back and watch and touch himself._

_"Tell me where you want it,” she murmured. The soft strands of her hair brushed over his skin when she moved. She took out one cube of ice, palmed it and ran a finger over it. "Where should this go, Sam?”_

_Sam shook his head. "In… in me?"_

_Dean whimpered and that was it, that was—he reached down for the buttons of his jeans, whether he was really here or not. Jesus. Jesus._

_She tilted her head and smiled. She pressed the ice cube down against the line of Sam's stomach muscles, and he gasped, throat moving as his head arched back. "That would cool you off, huh? It would look so hot, too, bet it would make you squirm like crazy. But it would hurt a little. You want that?"_

_"Yeah. Yes,” Sam hissed. "You can. Anything."_

_"I know,” Jess said, and Dean watched her face even while he could barely peel his eyes off her hands and the way they were gliding that ice between his brother's legs. For just a flicker of a second she looked so sad and Dean's palm went still over his cock, just watching her, just enraptured until the moment passed. "I know you'd let me do anything. You're so amazing. Now relax, do that for me.”_

_Her long, slender fingers slid up and inside and Sam screamed out as she pushed the ice inside. Jess moved like she'd been waiting for that moment and slid her lips right over Sam’s throbbing, jerking cock and took it down hard and fast, to the balls._

Dean closed his eyes and the world went white. When he opened them again, his jeans were zipped and his breathing was normal again. He was kneeling, staring into the coppery green surface of the mirror and Sam was staring right back at him in it.

"Dude, what'd you see?" Sam asked, but there was a faint almost smirk on his lips. "You were moaning like it was lesbian mud wrestling or something."

"Shut up," Dean muttered half-heartedly. Then he turned and looked Sam over for real. "You really… she really loved you."

Sam went stiff for a second and then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, she… stupid of her, right? Got her killed."

Dean shook his head and put a hand on Sam's knee. "No one wanted that to happen," he said.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I know," he said, like he was just saying that to get Dean to shut up.

"I didn't get what I was looking for," Dean said, deciding that just this once he was going to have to shut it and get back to the subject later. "Can you try to focus or something? Direct me to the right place?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No," he said shortly. "I can't."

"Hard way it is then," Dean muttered. He turned and looked back into the mirror, but he kept one hand on Sam's knee beside him. The connection helped.

_The world moved and he was back in that sterile, empty room. Sam was different, fully dressed thank fuck, with his palms pressed to a window that Dean couldn't remember being there before. Dean stepped up behind him to see what Sam was looking at._

_Him. It was him and dad. Looking not much the worse for wear and walking away, away from this place. Parked down the street, Dean could see the Impala, but he couldn't remember, he couldn't remember this._

_"Scream," he urged Sam, even though this was over, this was over and Sam couldn't hear him anyway. "Fuck, Sammy, get us to come back."_

_As if Sam really did hear him he opened his mouth. Opened it wide and a hand clamped right over it so fast that Dean winced. The demon's hand. The creature moved so fast, almost gliding out of the shadows, like it knew there nothing that was going to get in its way. It should have been impossible for Dean to see Sam's face from this angle, but somehow he did, distorted by that creature's hand, wet, shining lines of tears sliding over skin._

_He looked out the window and saw himself climbing into the Impala and heard the engine and he couldn't even scream, no more than Sam could._

_"No," he whispered. "No. No." He could almost feel something tear as he ripped himself away and the world shifted again._

_When he opened his eyes there was Sam in front of him, out in the open air, which was enough to let Dean breathe again. An older Sam, but younger than he was now, maybe eighteen. He was wearing a beat up sweatshirt and ragged jeans, with a mulish look on his face that Dean recognized too well. That was the same look he'd worn when he let that admission letter from Stanford flutter into Dad's lap one sticky hot June day, about a week after his high school graduation._

_Dean remembered the yelling, Dad and Sam, and later him and Sam when he'd tried to be reasonable and point out Sam couldn't even move into the dorms until, what, September and that wasn't for months. That he should wait. Preferably until Dean had the chance to change Sam’s mind, not that he'd ever said that. Sam had just glared him down._

_"I know what I'm doing, Dean." That was it. Dumbass kid._

_Sam looked like he knew what he was doing now, though, as he strode right up to a worm eaten wooden door and pounded on it until someone answered. A figure in cowl and cassock who just stopped and stared at him._

_"They told me you could help me," Sam spat out, like it was a challenge._

_The figure slid the cowl back and Dean wasn't at all surprised to see Brother Fidelius' worn, hangdog face. "Whoever told you that was wrong. We aren't a refuge for the demon tainted," he said, in a voice that managed to be layers colder than what Dean had heard out of him._

_"I—they told me—" Sam stuttered to a stop and went white, jerking back like he'd been slapped, and then went red. The stubbornness in him cracked and Dean could see the kid who'd clung to his knee and begged him not to tell Dad anything and that was almost as horrible to see now as it had been then. It made him shudder, made him feel a sick hate for this man that he'd previously reserved for the demons that had killed his mother and the ones that had fucked over his brother._

_"Innocent victims, yes," Fidelius snapped out. "Anyone that fucks a demon willingly is no better than a witch themselves."_

_Sam shook his head, taking another step back and almost swaying on his feet. "No," he whispered. "I—no."_

_"My sight doesn't lie. You stink of corruption and consent," Fidelius said and put his shoulder into the door, clearly preparing to shut it in Sam's face._

_Sam bit his lip, still visibly white, and lurched forward, thrusting his hand in front of the door. Fidelius kept right on slamming it closed and Sam screamed when the weight of it struck his hand, shrill and agonized enough to raise the hair on Dean's neck. Dean shuddered and lurched for him as if he still didn't know better._

_Somehow it must have gotten through to Fidelius too, the motherfucker, because the door slid smoothly open again and he looked Sam up and down with a contempt that was starting to shift into curiosity._

_"I'm sorry," Sam said, so softly Dean knew he was holding back another scream. "Please. I don't—there's no one else. No one else can help me. I've looked."_

_"You'd turn against your master, demon's toy?" Fidelius said and stared Sam down like he expected him to flinch._

_Sam stared right back at him and shook his head and Dean could almost see Sam find his anger. "It wasn't. It was never, never my master," he hissed._

_"So you say." Fidelius shook his head. "We won't have you here. We're a chaste order and you reek of licentiousness. You wouldn't last a week without indulging your flesh."_

_Sam did flinch at that and Dean, who'd seen just a little of the leash and lash of his curse felt his own hatred of this fucking hypocritical bastard inch that much higher. If he'd known, if he'd fucking known he'd never have brought Sam here again._

_"I can do that," Sam said softly. "If you help me, I'll do that. Whatever you say."_

_"I doubt you're capable of it," Fidelius said with that same thick contempt for Sam, Sam of all people, but he stepped aside a few steps, just enough so that Sam could squeeze past him and through the door._

_Dean held his breath and watched. Time seemed to move in stutters and he saw the monks and the thick incense and thicker prayers. Sam on his knees, fingers tangled hard in a rosary, whispering as he was doused in ice cold water. Blue lips and empty eyes while a cold voice talked about purity and corruption like they knew a fucking thing about it._

_Dean didn't know how long Sam stayed there, but it was enough time for his hair to grow out of the military high-and-tight that Dad had always made them wear and for his eyes to start getting that horrible bruised look of clawing need._

_"Your curse can't be broken by our will, or God's," Fidelius told Sam, on a day when his little brother looked so damned fragile that Dean could barely look at him. "It's exactly as I told you from the beginning, your actions put you beyond his help."_

_"T-that's not true," Sam said, soft voice and chattering teeth making it almost impossible to hear him._

_"Do you still deny that you took a demon willingly into your bed?" Fidelius asked, looking so amazed, the fucking asshole._

_Sam just gave a miserable shrug. "It wasn't like that," he said softly._

_"You cling to your excuses. It doesn't matter, we still can't help you. But… perhaps you might be of use to God and he might forgive you. If you were willing." Fidelius gave Sam a long careful look as Sam's gaze snapped up to him, so full of hope that Dean shook to see it._

_"I am. I will," Sam whispered. His fingers knotted together against his knees and Dean could see where he was scratching the red knot tattoos right under his jeans._

_"You can be a weapon in this fight. Incubi are powerful and subtle, but they can be… removed. If one is strong."_

_Sam nodded, staring down at his knees. The jeans he wore were almost worn through and the way he was picking at them probably didn't help. "What would I have to do?"_

_"There's an inscription," Fidelius said. His eyes were bright, intent, and it was the first time Dean had seen him look at Sam with anything but contempt. "A symbol of banishing. If it's touched by an embodied succubus or incubus, it will send them back to their master."_

_Sam rocked back on his knees and bit at a fingernail. "But, it has to touch it? How? It was strong, it was really strong. The first time I had salt and holy water and—"_

_"Listen, don't speak," Fidelius snapped and Sam went quiet. "You'll need a canvas the creature will be certain to touch. One it has enjoyed in the past." His gaze flicked over Sam's body and he gave a snort. "For whatever reason."_

_Sam drew back even further. "You mean me, that it will touch me. On my skin. You want me to get it to touch me again," he whispered. Slow, like he was just getting the idea and it terrified him._

_"It is one way to redeem your sins," Fidelius said. "At least then your body will have a purpose." He was smug, the filthy, self-righteous bastard. So smug._

_Sam shuddered. "I don't want it to touch me. I don't want anyone to fucking touch me anymore."_

_"The corruption of your essence says differently. But if you're not interested in God's forgiveness--" Fidelius said, while Dean raged helplessly. As if Sam of all people had ever needed to be forgiven._

_"No," Sam said, with those big, shining bruised looking eyes. "No, I am. Please."_

_Dean saw the monks put his brother down on a table and hold him there, half-naked and twitching. Tattoo needles and ink lay on one side of the table and a circle of inscriptions of what was obviously some intense ritual magic on the other. He watched them carve that magic on Sam's skin while he whimpered, as if Sam's body didn't know what was pleasure and what was pain anymore. Months of his unfed curse and Dean didn't want to think about what it must have been like._

_After, they put him out on the street with the clothes on his back and what looked like about a hundred bucks. Dean half expected to see him head back for Long Island, but instead he went out and stuck out his thumb by the nearest highway junction._

_"California," Sam told the first guy who stopped. Like he didn't even see the fucker's greedy eyes on his skin and the shape of his ass under his worn out jeans. Dean knew damned well he did, that he was probably desperate for it after however long with the asshole monks. But what Sam said was, "I'm going to Stanford. Scholarship."_


	3. Supernatural Fic: Season of the Witch (3/3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is still reading this I love you and I love all of your comments! So very much!

Dean came up gasping and dry heaving with Sam's big hands rubbing his back and holding on hard.

"It's okay, shh…" Sam whispered to him, like it was Dean who needed the reassurance and Dean could only shake his head.

"You know it's not true?" Dean mumbled, turning up against Sam's stroking hands. Sam's face was so still in the dim light that it was impossible to know what he was thinking. Sneaky little fucker. "What they said to you, what that son of a bitch monk fucker said to you, it isn't true."

Sam's mouth curved into that old nothing expression. "He doesn't fuck monks. He doesn't fuck anyone, that's the point."

"Yeah, the point is sex deprivation rotted his brain," Dean said before he could think about it.

Sam laughed. "Maybe. It is true, a little bit, though," he added, in a softer tone. And if there was anything Dean hated, it was that he knew Sam thought so and he couldn't make him stop thinking it.

"Fuck off," Dean said, like there was even a point to wasting words. "I'll show the little bitch sins of the flesh." He pressed forward until he was nose to nose with Sam and caught his mouth, angling for it.

Dean pushed when Sam tried to pull away, using lips and tongue and hands to keep Sam close until he could feel the tension in his brother's body ease. When the kiss broke, Sam laid his head on Dean's shoulder and Dean found that he could breathe again, as long as Sam did.

"So," Sam finally said a few minutes of that later. "Can we finish this? I think I'd really like to be done with this." And Dean shuddered and nodded his head, not wanting to think about how long Sam had been waiting for this to be over, really over.

"Yeah. Right now," Dean whispered. He caught Sam's cheek in his hand and tilted him toward the mirror. He sank back down into the dream world between breaths, already braced for it.

_He was back to that bare wooden room and he could hear Sam sobbing. He wanted to scream and pull away as soon as the sound hit, to insist that this, this was not what he'd come here to see. But, it kept circling back to this. This was where Sam had been taken and cursed. This was what Dean had to watch._

_He opened his eyes and saw his brother on the floor, thighs spread with that thing between them. It was smiling. In all these echoes and memories Dean had never seen it not smiling. He hoped it had stopped smiling when Sam had finally taken it down, that Sam got that much satisfaction._

_"Three gifts, from me to you," it whispered, slow, teasing words, almost like a lover. Its hands were slow too on Sam's body, nothing that should have hurt, nothing that should have made Sam seize up and start screaming like he was being ripped to shreds._

_Dean was sorry, so damned sorry for looking down on all those poor bastards who'd sold their souls or made their deals with the supernatural for someone they loved. Because if the fucking thing that had taken his parents jumped down now and offered to make this never have happened to Sam, he'd have gone for that so fast. So fast._

_But this, this was it and Dean had to force his eyes open and watch. There was a bright red knot, blooming, marring the surface of Sam's skin. Dean slid down onto his knees, hugging himself. So fucking helpless, watching this now. Worse than helpless._

_"This first gift is submission," it whispered. Dean watched it rub its fingers in Sam's tears like they were honey while Sam kept on sobbing, sounding so damn young and alone, the same way he'd cried when he rolled out of bed before he could walk. "I could have made it so that you could only feel pain every time you were touched. Could have made it so that pain was your only release. I've done that before."_

_Dean tried not to think about that, about what it would have been like if Sam was like that. Tried not to be grateful, because it shouldn't matter that it could have been worse, not while the thing kept talking and Sam wept like the pain was never going to stop._

_The next knot happened faster and Sam made sick gagging sounds, like pain was pressing the air from his lungs. Dean whimpered and rocked back and forth on his knees, watching the second red knot appear on the vulnerable skin of Sam's right thigh._

_It kissed Sam there, which made Sam jerk and whimper. "I did say nothing permanent. So, the second gift is love and truth. Or love of the truth. I bet you didn't know I could give those kinds of gifts too," it whispered, like it thought it was on a date. Like Dean wasn't going to tear it to shreds and salt and burn anything left if it ever crawled out of hell to where he could get at it._

_"When another creature knows and understands what happened here, what you are, and loves you despite that—carnally, as it were, and otherwise, of course—and you love them in return, then all my gifts are, shall we say, revoked."_

_So of course it silenced him, Dean could already see it coming. It silenced Sam and this was why. All this time, all this fucking time it had been so close and so easy. Dean gagged, covering his mouth with his hands. Any time, he could have helped Sammy any time if he'd been paying attention, if he'd found a way._

_The slap of flesh on flesh drew Dean back out and he forced himself to watch the rest. "One last gift," the creature said, and its shining, beautiful hair covered Sam's face as it leaned over him. "This one, I think will be invisible to everyone but you. Wouldn't want things to be too easy, would we?"_

_"Your last gift is silence. You will not speak of what happened here, nor will you offer any hint or assistance to any person or creature that seeks to know."_

_Dean watched, dry eyed and heaving, while the creature took his brother's body on the hard floor. So now he knew, now he knew. It should have felt like a triumph finally knowing and the solution being something he could do, that he could do so easily. But all he could see were a thousand blown opportunities to make it better, to fix things before they got so bad._

_"Sam," he whispered. "Sammy." He reached to grab that thing off, to pull it off Sam, but his hands went right through like he was air and nothing._

_"I know," Dean said as if there was something to hear him. "I know. And I—I always, always, Sammy."_

"Yeah, I know that too," Sam said and when Dean opened his eyes there he was, his Sam, and Dean felt a body rush of protective warmth. It felt like a miracle that Sam was there at all and solid and strong after all that shit. He wanted to touch, just to feel the heat of Sam's skin, human and alive.

Dean struggled for his own calm. "We should blow out of here," he said. He pressed his thumb against the hollow place under Sam's cheek and felt his brother nod. "I hear there are bunch of monks hanging around who might get jealous if they see some, whatsit, licentiousness."

"That right?" Sam said gravely. Just like he was Dean's perfectly serious brother, except for the fact that his eyes were shining and his lips twitched as if he might smile. "Know anyone horny enough to get licentious in front of a bunch of monks?"

"Come on, dude," Dean said and grabbed Sam by the hand, tugging them both to their feet. His knees felt bruised and his toes tingled like they'd fallen asleep. It made him wonder how long they'd been there.

Outside it was dark, but clear enough to catch a few of the brightest stars through the city lights. The Impala almost purred under Dean's hands and Sam loaded Zeppelin in the tape deck. Actually put it in himself, no needing Dean kneeing him or threatening to sing the song that never ends round three hundred and three, so that was cool.

"I knew you'd get some taste someday, Young Skywalker," Dean said and Sam just rolled his eyes while Dean drove.

It was a little before sunrise when Dean pulled over into a field off a side road. The car rattled over the dirt and grass before Dean slid her to a stop.

"You shouldn't have done that," Dean said to the steering wheel. "We never wanted you to sacrifice yourself like that." He could almost feel Sam's shrug.

"What, you're the only one who gets to be a martyr?" Sam asked. He shifted in his seat enough to make the leather creak. "Dean, it was worth it."

Dean turned and stared at him and Sam was looking back. In the gray early morning light he looked tired, soft. Eyes dark and bruised, like he'd been beaten or just hadn't slept in weeks. "How can you say that? I saw it, Sammy."

"Yeah," Sam said and nodded. "Yeah. You did. You're here to see it and I'm here to see you see it."

Dean scrubbed at his nose with his forefinger, then picked under the nail in distraction.

"Is this more of your serenity and faith shit?" Dean asked. "‘Cause I don't get it. I can't even remember how dad and I fucked up and got caught by that demon, you know? It's like it's just gone."

Sam grabbed Dean's left hand before he could maul it any further with his right. The laughter stilled and Sam shook his head. "It's okay to forget it, Dean. I just want it to be over so I can forget about it too. It's actually kind of hard to deal with something that never ends."

Dean drew in a slow breath and bit his lower lip. Sam still looked so tired. He didn't, couldn't speak, not when Sam was looking at him like that. Instead he slid out of the car and around, settling onto the hood, keeping his mouth shut until the car creaked under Sam's weight when his brother settled down next to him and put his hand over Dean's again.

"It ends now," Dean promised. They were almost done, he supposed. Mission accomplished, his brother fixed, everything he'd been going for all along. Except he really couldn't fix Sam without a time machine and the Colt or something like it, to put a bullet in that thing, that demon, before it ever set eyes on his brother. Never touched Sam, never made Sam sound so damned wistful when he talked about chastity, the way other kids his age talked about fucking playboy bunnies. "After today, you can go ahead and take your vow of chastity if you still want to."

Sam's hand tightened around Dean's and he shook his head, like Dean was the one who was nuts. "I don't think so. Not while you and me— no."

"Why not? You'll be free. Or, you can go find yourself another nice girl," Dean said, feeling like a total dick even as the words came out. So, yeah, he knew he was a total dick. But if he was the kind of dick that could stop screwing up, he could live with that. It was better than spending all his time thinking about whether or not Sam wanted him, had ever really wanted it the way Dean had wanted it, or if it was just pure curse driven fucked-upness.

Sam, rather than appreciating what Dean was trying to do, the little bitch, just pressed his forehead to his palm and laughed like nothing was funny. "You fucking son of a bitch, you told me you wanted to… with me. You told me you wanted to. A nice girl? A nice girl? Are you trying to make me kick your ass?"

"Like you could," Dean scoffed. His fingers twitched at his sides, back and forth and utterly restless. "Anyway, why not? You think you don't deserve one? That's bullshit." Exactly the kind of bullshit Sam seemed to go in for too.

"I thought you understood, you told me you liked it, Dean," Sam said and he sounded sick, like he was gagging on hysteria. "I thought you understood. But you don't." Which was true, Dean didn't understand. Sam was on his feet, glaring like he was wild, and Dean had no clue what was wrong with him.

Dean reached out for his arm but Sam pulled away hard. "What am I supposed to understand? That a demon fucked you up so bad that now you want to sleep with your own brother? The guy whose fault it was the demon ever touched you to begin with."

"Fuck this," Sam muttered. He got up and stood a few paces away, shaking. "You're not going to listen to me. You never listen to me."

"It could be different," Dean said, because he was trying, he really was. It would be a hell of a lot easier if Sam would stop-- would stop acting like Dean was supposed to read his mind about whatever he was all messed about this time and just talk to him. Which… yeah, right. "Like with, with Jess. She made you happy."

Sam stared at him; mouth hanging open like he couldn't quite believe Dean had said that. An echo of the shock in Sam's face when they were kids and Dean had locked him in a closet. "I don't want a nice girl. I don't want a vow of chastity. Jess reminded me of you," Sam said, sounding so numb and angry and plain tired Dean didn't know what to do.

That couldn't be it. It couldn't be that simple, Sam being pissed off just because…"Just because a demon made you—"

Sam waved his arms wildly in the air, palms forward and twice as awkward, the way he hadn't been in years. He acted as if the frustration was just bubbling out of him too hard to let him keep still and it should have looked ridiculous but it didn't. "God, would you just shut up? Look, let's just go."

Dean blinked. And all this time he'd thought breaking the curse was sort of the point. "But we haven't— "

"There's no point." Sam let his hands drop back down limply to his sides.

"Wait. Why not? I know what happened. I..." Dean flushed red and bit his lip. Of all the shit he'd never planned to say. It was true though. It was so true, and if saying it made Sam stop looking at him like Dean had stolen all his lucky charms and fucked his prom date he'd say it, no problem. He took a deep breath. "I ...love you and you— oh." It hit him, why Sam might think this wouldn't work.

He hadn't even thought of that, that Sam had to love him too. That Sam might not. Dean stared into the open air so intently that he didn't spot Sam's knuckle until it was driving into his mouth. Shock as much as impact sent him sprawling on the hard ground.

"Fuck you, Dean. Don't you dare act like you haven't heard a goddamned word I said," Sam muttered, shaking out his fist and glaring Dean down. "Don't you dare say that I don't... how could you even think that I don't?"

Then Sam turned around and walked back to the car, sliding into the driver's seat and gunning the engine while he waited for Dean to catch his breath and get in. And as for Dean, Dean felt like an asshole. He was an asshole. With a bleeding mouth. He was an asshole with a bleeding mouth and Sam loved him.

He wanted to scream out the entire Sabbath back catalog or something. He wanted to buy a bar a drink. His stomach ached. Sam was glaring at him right through the windshield of the Impala and Dean couldn't even remember seeing him this pissed off.

Dean half-expected Sam to just drive off while he was sitting there, slumped on the ground and feeling stupid, but he wasn't going to say so. Getting knocked tits over ass by his baby brother once was enough for one day.

Instead Dean climbed into the car and kept his mouth shut. Sam kept casting half glares at him, all ice and fire and there was nothing he could have done to make Dean relax more and worry less. Sam being righteously pissed off, that he could deal with.

Sam pissed off for the reasons Dean was starting to be pretty sure he was pissed off about, that was enough to make him almost want to smile, except he thought that Sam might actually pull over just to punch him again if he did.

Dean waited until Sam had checked them into a Motel 6 off the side of a highway. The whole place smelled of bleach and cigarettes, from lobby to sheets to chick behind the desk. Sam was tense enough to vibrate the bed on nervous energy alone and Dean had no fucking clue how to stop that. Now that Dean thought about it, this breaking the curse business had worked out way better in his head.

In his head there'd been gratitude and maybe a little acknowledgement, and possibly a cheeseburger. Fuck Sam and his gift for screwing up Dean's brilliant ideas. Dean had to bite down on his bruised lip to keep from grinning.

Instead, Dean sat on the edge of the bed and watched Sam pace back and forth while he tried to think of a way to clue Sam in on what he had figured out. Before he got the chance to, Sam just turned around and slammed his way into the shower.

Dean took a deep breath and propped his chin on his palms. He had to think, he had to at least try to figure out where Sam's head was. He had to say something to get Sam to realize it was going to be okay and fuck if he was gonna pussy out of doing it.

"So this is stupid," Dean said once Sam finally walked out of the bathroom, hair plastered to his skull, too long, thin T-shirt glued to the small of his back by dampness and clinging to his thighs. So good, the kid looked so good, even like this, when Sam was twisting with anger.

"Thanks for the observation," Sam muttered. He sat down on the floor next to the other bed for no reason Dean could figure out and glared at the wall.

Dean took another breath and let it out. Right. Now or never. "Did she really?" Dean said. He clenched his hands on his knees to keep them from the tapping.

"Who what?" Sam asked, clearly startled out of whatever internal rant he was on.

"Jess. Did she really remind you of me?" Dean said, because that right there was when he should have figured it out if he weren't being a dumbass.

"Well, she was better in bed," Sam said and rolled his eyes in just the right way that Dean let himself relax a little. Even if that was kind of offensive. If Sam was going to bitch like that he was also going to get over himself and whatever was pissing him off.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Dean said reflexively. He bit down to hide another smile.

"I will because it's true," Sam said and then he was the one to go and smile like he actually meant it. Yeah, Dean figured him for a total little bitch. "She wasn't a fucking pussy. Why don't you, I don't know, just chill out, Dean?"

"Chill out? What are you, the new valley boy?" Dean scoffed. Okay, maybe he was a little bit offended. "Like totally fer sure, dude."

Sam just ignored it because he was bullheaded. "Chill out. Relax. Serenity."

"Okay, right. I'm sorry, Sammy, sex with my fucked up baby brother hasn't always been a Zen experience for me," Dean hissed and then wanted to smack himself for letting Sam make him talk without thinking again, because this was only the most awkward conversation ever. Sam seemed to take it in stride though. He just smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Well, you like the fucked up sex, don't you?" Sam said and fixed his unwavering green-eyed stare right on Dean. "You keep saying so, anyway, so I figured you must."

Dean felt his face heat up and told himself he wasn't blushing. And if he was blushing it was okay, because Sam obviously was too. Redder, a lot redder than he was. "Well, duh," Dean muttered. "I like the sex. I like… you. I like it. And you…" he paused and waited for Sam to finish this for him.

Which was when Sam smiled that smile at him, the same one from the bar in New York. That stupid knowing smile, like the kid thought he was auditioning for Buddha in the high school talent show. "Well, I like it too. Which I keep telling you. So chill out so I can stop punching your dumb ass."

"Fine," Dean said and stood up. Because that right there, that smile, he thought he was starting to figure it out after all. That was a challenge.

Sam didn't move, not even when Dean crowded right up against him, actually looming, if only because Sam was sitting, sprawled at his feet. "Fine. You think I'm pussy, right? Why don't we play it my way and then see what you think?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and his smile lifted up one corner of his mouth. Whatever tension had been in him in the car, before, seemed to ease right out the same way that water dripped out of his hair. "I don't know, are you gonna make me?"

Dean shrugged and shook his head, taking another step until he almost had his thighs in Sam's face. He slid the edge of his boot between Sam's knees, toeing them apart and pushing Sam's shirt up.

Sam let him do it, body pliant and unresisting, still smiling like an enigma. Like he had all these secrets, even with his legs spread wide open and his cock starting to fill under Dean's gaze.

"No, I'm not gonna make you do anything," Dean said as calmly as he could. Like he wasn't moving on adrenaline and pure instinct. Like he didn't know that this was it, make or break moment. If he did it right, this was it. "I'm gonna tell you what to do. And you're going to do it because you're mine."

Sam leaned his head back against the bed, a little sigh escaping when Dean's boot slid over one bare thigh, pressing right down on the harsh red knot on the skin. Dean had avoided touching them, flinched away hard when he did by accident. Not this time.

"You think so?" Sam gasped. Breathing too hard, like there wasn't enough air in the room. Dean sympathized. Not enough air, jeans too tight, and Sam… well, Sam wasn't wearing jeans, so Dean could see exactly what he was doing to him.

"You say 'do you think so, sir'," Dean prompted. He let the toe of his boot slide further up Sam's thigh until he grazed the joint of leg and hip and then back down.

Sam's cock twitched visibly, the head glistening, but Sam's face was still. He just stared Dean down until Dean let out a little smile of his own and pushed the toe right up against the sensitive skin under Sam's balls. Dean could almost see it, like a switch flipped behind his eyes. The second Sam surrendered to him, the second he relaxed.

"Sir," Sam hissed and his hips shifted hard, like he couldn't keep still. Like he might actually press down and fuck himself on Dean's fucking boot. Dean had to bite down a moan. Too deep in it, he was too deep in this. He must be sick and wired wrong to get off on this.

But there was Sam, watching him, wide eyed and turned on enough to shake, expecting more, expecting Dean. Flush spreading on tanned skin. Jesus, his Sam. Maybe for keeps. If he did this right.

"I could do it," Dean whispered, too loud and hoarse. Words spilled out on short circuit like they were coming right from his dick and not stopping to check with his brain.

"I could, what, fuck you with my boot, couldn't I? I could spread you open and tie you down and hurt you and you would let me do anything."

"Yes sir," Sam whispered, and that was all. His eyes were all pupil, huge and dark and fixed on Dean. Dean wondered what he was really seeing. Dean held his gaze for a moment before Sam let his head drop, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Don't," Dean mumbled. He caught Sam's chin in his hand and pulled it up hard, forcing Sam to look at him. He wasn't ever going to be someone Sam couldn't look at.

Sam's eyes were narrow, more blue than green where the light hit them. "Gonna pussy out again?" he asked softly, like it was just another question instead of one of Sam's bullshit tests.

"I'm going to do what I want to and you're going to like it," Dean said softly. He rubbed his thumb against Sam's red cheek, feeling the stubble and heat. "Now, get on the bed."

He tugged Sam up by the wrists and onto his feet. He pulled hard and Sam pushed back, almost making him wrestle them both up and onto the bed. Just enough so they both knew that Sam could have fought him off, that he was here because he wanted to be, wanted this as much as Dean did. That Sam was with him, right up there on his back, legs open and palms pressed face up on the pillow above his head, right there on the scratchy chintz motel bedspread.

Dean almost stopped right there, because of the way Sam looked at him. Loose and easy like a sex doll with a hard dick, eyes glassy and on Dean. And that was not right, that was not how this was going to be. Dean cupped his cheek and pulled him into a kiss, demanding a response.

Hard and wet and he used his teeth, gasping a little at the impact of Sam on his bruised skin, but he didn't stop. Didn't stop until Sam pushed back, kissed back, neck arching as if to get more of Dean, hands twitching like all he wanted to do was reach for him. Dean grabbed Sam's hands in his and pushed them back up again.

"What I want, Sammy," Dean told him gently, even though he wasn't sure how much Sam was hearing right now. "And you'll like it. I swear." Sam whimpered and nodded his head and Dean soothed him with his mouth.

If Dean closed his eyes, he could still see it between blinks, the way he'd seen it in the mirror. The demon thing, glossy dark and beautiful, sitting between Sam's legs. Sitting where Dean was now, its hand moving in the same place Dean pressed his to draw knots over Sam's skin.

Dean pressed down, catching his palms against Sam's thighs, and kissed him right over the knots, one after the other. The skin was hard like scar tissue and too hot, like it was fevered. Sam whimpered and Dean could smell the salty bitterness of his arousal.

"I get it, Sam, I understand," Dean murmured, like he was soothing a trapped and trembling animal. "What you are. You're mine."

"Yes," Sam whispered between rattling breaths.

"I know you know that," Dean whispered. He stroked the skin of Sam's hip lightly, more of a tease than relief. "But I want to say it, okay?" Sam nodded, hard and jerky and his hips pushed up against Dean's hands, as if he ached for more. Dean wanted to say a lot, but he didn't have the words. He just wanted to shove his body against Sam's until they both stopped thinking. But he wanted Sam to know. "You were always mine."

"That— " Sam started to say and Dean could almost see his overactive brain come back on line, which was just not happening. Dean caught him by the chin and covered his mouth, kissing like this was the world.

"It's true," Dean said, right up against Sam’s tongue, sharing spit. He was so hard he didn't know how he was still in control, not just humping up against Sam's smooth stomach until he lost it and came in his jeans. Just that Sam was here, under him and Sam needed him not to lose it. "You were always mine. One way or another."

"Yes." Sam nodded. His eyes were wide and there was sweat sliding down his cheeks and over his eyebrows. Dean watched his face for second before shifting down until he was sitting back up on his knees, cupping his hands over the red knots, watching Sam's dick throb like he was dying to be touched.

Sam gasped and Dean took it as agreement, that yeah, Sam was dying for it. Took it as his cue to slide his mouth over the tip of Sam's dick. Couldn't swallow it all, not like Sam did it, like he was gonna learn to do, but he could try. Try and use his tongue for friction, wet and messy breathless work until he could feel Sam's hips pushing up.

"Dean. Hurts, oh fuck, I think… keep going," Sam mumbled. "Hurts." Dean didn't have to ask what hurt because he could feel the knots that branded Sam burning under his palms, so hot he thought they might leave flash burns on his own skin, but he didn't give a fuck about that part. They kept burning until they were gone like they'd never been there.

Then it was just Sam, the way he tasted bitter and heavy and the way he sounded, caught up somewhere between pleasure and pain, almost gagging Dean when he thrust up and Dean let him. Dean's Sam.

Dean didn't know when he ended up on his stomach, sucking Sam and humping the bed, hands still pushed against the smooth, empty skin of Sam's inner thighs. Empty, empty, except for the finger shaped bruises Dean was leaving there, and just the thought of that was electric, had Dean pushing down more against the rock hard motel mattress until he was just gone.

He lay there with his cheek pressed against Sam's thigh, only vaguely worried that he was gonna get glued there by come and a little too pleased with himself to care. Just breathing seemed like enough and he closed his eyes.

When Dean woke up there was sun in the window and his thighs were trapped in crusty, really uncomfortable jeans, which should have bothered him because it fucking chafed. Would have bothered him if he hadn't focused on Sam sitting up in bed with his knees parted, rubbing his hands over the places on his skin where the knots had been.

Sam had a cheap motel pen in his hand and he was using it on his skin, pressing it down to draw something over the red and black bruises Dean's fingers had left. The pattern was too faint for Dean to make out.

He seemed to sense Dean watching because he raised his head and smiled. Dean knew without any more doubt what it meant, that sweet, wide-open smile. It felt like it was hot-wired right to his dick. Sam let the pen drop and leaned over to press his mouth over Dean. He tasted sour, like morning, but it was good.

"Remember the time I said fidelity was more than I was gonna ask from you?" Sam asked with an arched brow. "I totally lied. You're mine and there is no way you're allowed to take what you said last night back."

Dean laughed and rolled his eyes. "Toppy fucking bastard," he teased and Sam just stared at him for a moment before he laughed too, wild and a little hysterical with his head thrown back.

"Maybe," Sam finally said. "I guess we'll find out." There was something shy in it, still wounded, but it was Sammy, just Sam, and Dean knew he could bull-stubborn his way through anything, even his own weirdass issues.

"Yeah, well, don't think it's gonna get you out of doing laundry, leather daddy," Dean muttered. Sam's laugh was real, bright. So, Dean figured maybe all of this was still wrong. Wickedly wrong, on every level, and maybe Dean was going to hell. It was worth it just to hear Sam laugh, crazy and free, the way he hadn't since he was fifteen.

Dean shifted up and put his head on Sam's shoulder, slid his fingers through Sam's and touched skin, squinting to see what Sam had drawn there. It looked like a little kid's drawing of the sun, with wide beams radiating out.

"Fresh canvas," Sam said, still grinning. He rubbed their joined hands together over the long muscle of his thigh. "You think I should get a tattoo?"

Dean just laughed and shook his head. "Of the sun?" he asked.

"It's a tarot thing. The sun," Sam laughed. "It means freedom. Other stuff… good stuff…but, you know. Freedom."

"Good stuff? Is that the formal way of saying it?" Dean asked and then leaned over to bite down on Sam's earlobe.

"Fuck you," Sam said, but his smile didn't waver and he pushed Dean down hard and then climbed on top. "Asshole."

Looking up into Sam's bright, smiling face it was a little bit like the sun. Freedom. "You should," Dean said. "You should totally get a tattoo."

_______________

End Notes: If anyone is still reading this I love you and I love all of your comments! So very much!

As for my comments... hmmm... all of this exists because I didn't know how to end Outside By the Blue, Blue Moon in a good way. I hope this particular take works well for you folks. In some ways this was a really difficult story, not so much to write, but to make satisfying. I really love reading h/c but dude, it is hard stuff to write. I like to throw horrible things at characters to peel away their layers, but in the end my kink is for there to be a steel core of strength once the damage is done. Somehow, and I don't know why, it makes writing the comfort aspects more difficult.

For the rest of the Blue Moon series go [here](http://vaingirlfic.livejournal.com/20354.html?style=mine#cutid8)


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